JEN MCCONNELL
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THE JUMPING-OFF POINT His cannabis delivery was late. Again. It was Virginia knocking at the apartment door, bringing Thai food for lunch. “How are you feeling?” She gave him a deep kiss on the lips. “Better now.” He pressed her against the door, squashing the bag of food. “I can take a later flight,” he whispered. She nudged him toward the couch. He opened a box of noodles, sniffed, then set it on the scuffed coffee table. “No appetite?” she asked. “You can have mine.” He texted another question mark. This dispensary was always late, but they were the only place that carried his strain in edible form. She lifted a potsticker with chopsticks. “I could come with you. Meet your mom.” “There’s better ways to spend a weekend than Arizona in the summer. It’s hot. Like hell’s asshole.” “You don’t want me to go?” She put her hand on his knee and moved closer. They’d only been dating a couple months. Too early for parental interaction but time had suddenly accelerated. The news—cancer, aggressive—had steered their relationship onto the fast track. “It’s just, would you want to meet her if I hadn’t…if I wasn’t…” He sighed. “Maybe next time, okay?” There was a knock on the door. Tyler made the quick exchange, feeling better already. He chewed an edible during the ride to the airport. The rest were packed into a one-a-day gummy vitamin bottle. His medical marijuana card was in his wallet. While cannabis was now legal in California, the laws in Arizona were murkier, so it was just easier to be prepared. By the time he took his seat on the plane, Tyler was relaxed but alert enough to watch the safety demonstration. Dying in a plane crash, rather than of cancer, seemed like a joke God would play. The idea of death, to Tyler, was like moving to Nebraska. He wouldn’t see his mom or friends
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Volume 17 • 2022
